I weigh the man, not his title; 'tis not the king's stamp can make the metal better.

Mistresses are like books; if you pore upon them too much, they doze you and make you unfit for company; but if used discreetly, you are the fitter for conversation by em.

A beauty masked, like the sun in eclipse, gathers together more gazers than if it shined out.

I weigh the man, not his title; 'tis not the king's stamp can make the metal better.

Hunger, revenge, to sleep are petty foes, But only death the jealous eyes can close.

Women serve but to keep a man from better company.

Money makes up in a measure all other wants in men.